


The Storm Before the Calm

by notwest



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Bulges and Nooks, Choking, Dom/sub Undertones, Earth C (Homestuck), M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking, Synopsis: Karkat goes pitch and Dave is a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-26 00:57:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16209320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notwest/pseuds/notwest
Summary: Have you mentioned how much you love these nights? When Karkat looks at you with a hunger in his eyes that's stained with rage.





	The Storm Before the Calm

You love nights when he gets like this. When you can feel the tension in him building up torturously, bit by bit like a scaling crescendo; you see it in the flash of his fangs, in the hiss at the ends of his sentences. You see it in the way he looks at you like he wants to tear you apart. And tonight, aliens and gentlemen, you shall be known as EA Sports, because you are in the fucking game.

He's twitching through your nightly movie, his comebacks short and sharp and his eyes dark. Arousal builds and swirls in your core like the darkening of skies before a storm. You get up to go to "bed" early, feeling a little giddy and making sure to take a nice, long shower to get everything fresh and cleaned up. You also casually message Jade to check on her plans. It looks like she's serendipitously decided to take a visit to the Consort Kingdom for a visit with Dirk and Jake. Pretty convenient, considering the high possibility you are going to get your brains fucked out tonight.

While you are toweling your hair in the bathroom that's just off your bedroom you can hear him shuffling around, unbelievably noisy as he always is. Your smile is both fond and anticipatory as you wrap a probably clean towel around your waist. Have you mentioned how much you love these nights? When Karkat looks at you with a hunger in his eyes that's stained with rage.

You idle in the bathroom, carefully listening through the door. Karkat is definitely pacing now, talking to himself, and your well trained ear can hear the irritation that coats the mumbles. After checking your hair a fifth time, you emerge.

Karkat's back was to you but he spins quickly, his face immediately creasing in every possible place it can, like the most complex origami tutorial you've ever seen. And the hottest. When he speaks, it's way calmer than you expected.

"We have a fucking water bill, you know. Has Dirk been giving you lessons in cleansing your filth mangled body? I should hope not, because from all the evidence I've seen you might as well be playing that idiotic fruit game on your phone you love so much in there."

Take the bait, you will not. Jump straight into the net? Bet your freshly scrubbed ass you're gonna.

"Karkat, Karkat, Karkat. The game is called Fruit Ninja and to be honest you can probably start calling me _your highness_ because I happen to be number six on the monthly leaderboard and I'm climbing that achievement beanstalk like a poor farm boy who wouldn't listen to his mama. But anyway." You hide your delight at the way his face twists up by throwing your hands up into a stretch, and forcing out a yawn. "You ready to hit the hay? Snag a wink? Kidnap a few sheep? Negotiate terms with the sandman for some premium shut eye?"

"Cut the shit, Dave," Karkat snaps. He lets out a sound then, a loud angry chitter that makes your knees weak and your dick pulse. Your mouth snaps closed, suddenly dry.

You can feel yourself already half hard, and you know Karkat would be able to see it through the thin terry cloth of your towel if his eyes weren't intensely locked on yours, smoldering and borderline feral.

You laugh, and it emerges a little bit more breathless than you would have liked but oh well. Even Michelangelo ran out of paint sometimes, right? "Fine," you say. You turn away from him and make a big production of walking to the closet, then; swinging your hips wildly and spreading both arms to rub the towel quickly over your ass, if you weren't completely dry already.

You think it's pretty fucking cute that after all this time, he doesn't just ask for what he wants.

 _Or just fucking take it_ , a more animalistic part of you thinks. Instead, it's always this slow and churning process between the two of you you. Something wordlessly worked toward, and never assumed. A month of buying the same shitty sugar-laced cereal until you finally have enough mail in coupons to get the free t-shirt.

You hear him growl, a low and throaty rumble that ignites like a match to a line of lighter fluid down your back. You secure the towel back around your waist tightly, pulling out one of the drawers you keep your underwear in and absently rummaging through it.

"You know," he finally says, "If you weren't going to stay up to watch the end of the movie, you could have fucking told me _before_ we pressed play."

You don't turn your head to look at him. "Firstly, how could I even know I wasn't going to make it through the movie. Of course I wanted to know what was in Bridget Jones' diary man, but I got tired. Second, no one told you that you also had to stop watching the movie. I can't believe I have to point this out to you but we aren't legally obligated to go to bed at the exact same time. Tell me the truth, do we need to call Terezi again? Because I gotta say I'm pretty sure she's getting tired of mediating our arguments."

You continue to move your hand back and forth in the drawer. Wow, boxers sure are hard to pick out. The steady _swish swish swish_ of fabric tells you he's pacing again.

"The movie _is_ what's in her diary, you liquid adhesive sniffing ignoramus! Were you even paying attention at all or just waiting for the precise moment you could abscond here as fast as your puny human stubs would take you just to sit on your flat ass and fondle your phone like a fucking wiggler with a bottle of milk? Clearly you don't give half of a freshly flushed, fiber riddled shit about spending any amount of time with me, in-fucking-cluding sleeping I guess! So fine! I'll just go watch the end of the movie alone!"

The rumbling is back, this time it's coming from his chest and has been building steadily through his diatribe, sounding a lot like a thousand mini-drum rolls sounding off the thrilling conclusion of the two man production you've got playing here. Time to direct the final scene.

You finally turn around to face his furrowed eyebrows. You abandon your fake underwear search and cross over to him quickly. He hisses at you through his fangs and you are unable to contain a smile as your entire body shivers in response.

"Fine with me," you say when you are close enough to him, injecting your voice with all the farm fresh, cage-free smug asshole-y goodness you can. "After all, I still have a couple levels of Fruit Ninja I need to clear. Gotta keep number my six status secure. But before you go, how about a good night kiss?"

You scrunch your face up in what you are envisioning as peak obnoxiousness, shutting your eyes and pushing your pursed lips out as far as you can. You swear aren't actually this much of an insufferable asshole, you just play one on TV. And when you know your boyfriend wants you to.

The next thing you are aware of is Karkat's hand wrapping tightly around your throat, claws digging little pinpricks into your skin and you can almost _see_ your dick comically springing up to attention. With a snarl, he pushes you bodily against the nearby wall. Fucking finally.

"Don't say another fucking word." His voice is low and calm enough that you almost wouldn't believe the situation you were in if one of his hands wasn't currently digging delightful bruises into your neck, while the other fumbles with his belt.

He's having kind of a hard time, and it's almost cute the way his fangs are poking out over his bottom lip. Are you even allowed to think your boyfriend is cute while he's in the middle of choking you out? Probably not.

Your breaths come in short and fast, your heart is racing; there's a heady warmth emanating from his grip on your neck, radiating down your body and ending in a steady throb of your dick.

"Need help there, partner?" you gasp out somewhat heedlessly, and a little because you're a shit and you know it.

Karkat's hand stills on the buckle, and he brings his eyes up slowly to meet yours. There's a mixture of lust and hostility there that tunes you like a five string bass. Your insides go taut, even as he relinquishes your neck in favor of shoving you towards the bed.

"I told you _not_ to run your mouth." He punctuates his words with a hand pushing flat against your back roughly, bending you in half so your chest presses down on the mattress. The towel is still clinging to your hips, like some kind of goddamn miracle.

You shift needily against the side of the bed, knees bent awkwardly and your dick already embarrassingly desperate for friction. You freeze when you feel the palm of his hand come to rest against your ass. He smooths his hand over the towel slowly, moving from one cheek to the other. You're holding yourself up on shaky arms, body tingling in anticipation.

He lifts his hand up occasionally, only to bring it back down to softly rub at you and you shudder violently each time. Your body is flush with heat, you can feel wetness smearing on your stomach now. Your next exhale emerges as a small, needy whine.

The next time he lifts his hand, it comes down with a dull smack against your towelled ass. You let out a small _oof_ as the impact pushes you farther into the mattress. Karkat is standing beside you, and when you twist your head you see one of his hands rubbing at his crotch through his pants. A wave of heat floods you at the same time as he lands another blow on your ass, this one a little harder than before. You cry out genuinely as your elbows give out and you tilt head first toward the mattress.

"I'm sure you think this is better than that idiotic game," he says, breathing harshly.

You raise your head from where it's cradled in your arms to breathe. It most certainly fucking is. But you've got a character to maintain, so you respond in a manner that's way too casual for the scenario that's currently going down, "Eh, take it or leave it."

Even knowing that was the wrong answer, you still you gasp when you feel a clawed hand slide into your hair, tugging sharply at the same time as he strikes you again. Your fists curl into the bedsheets and you yelp; the sharp pain in your scalp rings out and finds harmony with the dull throb of your ass and the sweet slide of your dick on the terry cloth when you're pushed forward. Karkat's deep rumbling and occasional clicks and chirps have become the backing track of the night; when mixed with your own sounds and feelings you are delighted to find that they come together to create something truly symphonious.

Your knees are about to give out and Karkat must know it somehow because he grunts and grabs you by both an arm and a leg and tosses you forward like a cow carcass at the butcher shop. Now you're face down on the bed and he rips the towel so quickly from under you that you feel it burn your skin. Your ass is exposed to the cool air, and you have the momentary urge to push it upwards and spread your cheeks apart for him. But you don't, even as the thought douses you with a fresh wave of heat. What you do is almost helplessly start grinding your freshly untowelled dick in small circles against the mattress. It feels good, but not good _enough_ , and you end up more frustrated than anything.

"Stay the fuck still, you insolent little shit," he growls. You freeze, except for the involuntary shiver that's pulled from you as Karkat slowly drags five claws from your lower back all the way down to the skin beneath your left asscheek. And then back up the other side. You can almost _see_ the thin red lines forming on your skin, and you hear another whine coming out of your own mouth at the sweet sting. When he's done with that he gives you two more sharp swats in quick succession; this time the when his palm connects with the bare skin of your ass it _hurts_ , and you cry out, a little muffled by the sheets. You shut your eyes and whimper, letting the slurry of feelings race through you as your body reverberates with each successive spank. You can feel the wet spot your dick is leaving getting bigger where it's pressed between you and the mattress.

Suddenly the hits stop. Karkat's hand leaves your skin, and you hear his footsteps disappearing into the hall. You shift restlessly, hips gyrating into the bed but not daring to move just yet. He sweeps back into the room within a minute and you hear him fiddling with something over by the dresser where the TV is. The next thing you observe is the unmistakable sound of him divesting himself of his clothes. You hear the zip and pull of pants followed by a gentle grunt and swoosh of fabric as–you assume–he tugs off his sweater. More footsteps, and he's back beside the bed. It squeaks as he gets on, and dips somewhere above your head.

"Turn around, asshole," he says.

You obey, in no small part due to the way your dick is has just been born again to pray for any semblance of loving attention right now. You turn your body around gently, mindful of the bruises and scratches covering your behind, eyes still closed. When you open them, your dick jumps. Karkat is kneeling, one leg at either side of your head, looking down at you with his teeth bared. You have a glorious view of his sheath and nook; it's puffed up and glistening, lips flushed red and spread open invitingly. The sight alone is enough to make you groan.

"Now let's see if this can shut you up. And don't even think about touching yourself."

"Man," you begin, "I haven't even been talking–"

He shushes you, then, and you only have about half a second to take an argumentative breath before he drops his hips and smothers you, slamming down hard enough to bruise your mandible. Your hands fly up to grip at his legs as you close your eyes and start lapping and sucking at his folds like you've been penciled in for a lethal injection and this is your final meal. He rocks heavily into you, thighs clamping down on the sides of your face and immediately keening. You feel the slick slide of his bulge against your nose as it rips out of its sheath. When you open your eyes to peek, it's curling onto itself; the undulation is mesmerizing and you catch yourself wishing it was in your mouth, even as you swallow down mouthful after mouthful of Karkat's genetic material. Your dick throbs desperately, and your hips buck up into empty air.

You're drowning, holding on to Karkat's thighs for dear life while digging your tongue fiercely into his dripping slit, mouth working like you're bobbing for apples. The drag of your ass against the bed only adds to the fiery balloon of arousal expanding in your gut. You take shallow breaths through your nose every time he lifts his hips for more leverage. When red tinted material starts to slide down your face and into the hollows around your eyes, you close them again. You lick into him for as long as you can, and when your jaw starts to ache you relax your mouth and let Karkat just use you for his pleasure.

The grinding stops for a second, and the pressure on your face lessens. You open your eyes, sucking in big, eager breaths while you can to see him leaning over to grab something at the edge of the bed. You don't get to see what it is before you're nose deep in nook again. But then the television clicks on, and a familiar voice immediately spills from the speakers. Is that… no way. _Is that?_

Is he fucking watching the end of Bridget Jones's Diary while riding your face?

You would laugh, or snort, or yell, but the only thing you can do is keep sucking and tonguing at his nook as you feel his thighs start to quiver around you. You're pleading with him as best you can, but your words get trapped and emerge as garbled, useless moans as you beg him to fuck you, touch you, anything. You dig your fingers into his thighs as hard as you can, but it doesn't do much except make him grind down harder. Boldly and blindly you reach one hand out over your face until it connects with your target, giving his bulge a long, tight stroke. A fresh wave of chitters bursts from his chest and he _wails._ It’s probably the hottest sound you’ve heard in your life, and you’re thankful once again for nights like these. That said, this might be your last night like this because you're probably going to die if he doesn't touch your dick soon.

Luckily, two more pulls of your fist and he comes, flooding your mouth with that hot, sticky red you've come to love so much and you gulp what you can down like a freshman at a beer keg. The rest of it spills past your lips and down your cheeks and neck. Karkat is a sick mashup of whimpers and buggy clicks, his gray legs clenched and trembling around your head. You can feel the rhythmic squeeze of his nook around your tongue, and shit, it's so fucking hot your dick is on actual fire. You are the winner of the air-fucking Olympics, it's you.

With a grunt, Karkat flops backwards and rests his back against your chest. You snort and mop your face with the towel that's still conveniently lying the bed. Holy shit.

You're suddenly struck with the sound of Renee Zellweger's voice. Man, you're probably never gonna figure out what this movie is about. Before you can assemble the bits and pieces of it you've seen into a cohesive plot in your mind, Karkat is moving again. He sits up, eyes narrowed and focused on you, like he's just daring you to say something. You don't though, you're too turned on, too busy breathlessly waiting for what he's going to do next. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly scoots down your body. It's an awkward set of movements and honestly would even be laughable if you weren't hyper aware of the obscenely wet, hot drag of his nook down your stomach like a match to a striker strip, lighting your insides on fire and leaving a trail of sticky red in its wake.

"Good," Karkat says.

He leans forward and kisses you, and you moan into his mouth, even though it feels only half like an reward and half like he's licking the taste of himself off your lips. Which is fine by you. Karkat could take you apart and devour you and you'd come out the other side begging to get back in line.

Your eyes roll back as you finally feel the slick wetness of his nook settle over your cock. The relief pulls an embarrassingly high pitched moan from the back of your throat. Sliding into him feels like a dream, silken and tight.

Your dick pulses and your head falls back. _Fuck_. Karkat lifts himself up to ride you properly, his eyes lifting back up to the television. Jesus Christ.

Despite his terrible taste in movies, you have to squeeze your eyes shut against the sight of him because it's unfairly hot, the flat expanse of his chest, his bulge curling in on itself gently in the open air, the way you can see his nook lips clinging to your dick as he slides up and down your length.

Your mouth basically opens of its own accord. "You feel so good holy shit, please never stop Karkat, oh my god!"

He clicks and hisses, clearly unhappy you're speaking again over his precious movie, and then you feel the heat of his chest over yours, the press of his fangs against your throat. Your toes curl. You let out a _fuck_ for good measure, and on cue they sink into your skin just enough to make you yelp, and then they _drag_.

It's just on the right side of painful, like you're dancing on a knife's edge. Your back arches and you lose yourself in the sharp feeling of it all, hips driving wildly up into him. This won't last very long; you're more keyed up than some rich asshole's Bentley after an encounter with a crazy ex.

But then that warm wetness instantly disappears off your cock and you're back to the glorious life of air fucking again. Your eyes pop open and you whine loudly at the loss, fuck fuck _fuck_!

Karkat is stroking himself with one hand, red material dripping down and smearing his thighs, and changing position to kneel between your legs. With smoky grey skin and dark eyes that are flashing dangerous fiery bolts, he looks like a storm cloud personified.

"You imbecilic pile of rancid garbage. I told you to stop fucking talking, _Dave_."

The way he grates out your name makes your dick pulse angrily. You stay silent though, wondering what's next.

"Get up," Karkat orders.

You scramble to your knees, too turned on to waste anymore time dicking around when you could be  _dicking_ around.

As soon as you're up, Karkat spins you around until you feel his bulge tickling at the top of your ass crack. _Fuck_.

You don't miss the way you are at an angle so he can clearly keep an eye on Bridget Jones and her shitty diary, but once again those thoughts vanish when you feel one of his hands spreading your cheeks wide. He makes sure to dig his claws in against the raw, sensitive skin there and you howl, while contrarily pressing further back into his touch. Karkat doesn't waste too much more time after that, and you feel the warm tip of his bulge circling clumsily around your entrance. A bead of sweat rolls down your neck and you swallow dryly, heart racing. Holy shit, you need to be fucked _now_.

Finally, he finds that sweet spot and starts to work his way wetly inside of you, spearing you open on his bulge and sighing in relief.

Karkat sits back on his heels, pulling you up with him so you're sitting on his thighs. You want to grab your dick, it's right _there_ and you're already so close, but you know that wouldn't fly. So you grip your knees and focus on the way his bulge fills you, the tip curling and stroking at you relentlessly. It makes you shiver against him, a drawn out and soft whimper on your lips.

His breath is hot on your neck, one hand is holding you to him by your chest, and the other hand is suspiciously absent. You don't have much time to ponder its whereabouts though because just then Karkat's bulge dead on hits your prostate and you can't help it, you wail out as you're positively overcome.

"Karkat, fuck you feel amazing holy shit," you babble, unable to stop yourself and you hear a snarl, the hand on your chest moves to your throat, squeezing hard.

 _Shit_ , a cascade of arousal goes through you and you spasm against him. "I thought I told you to shut the fuck up." His words are short, harsh grunts. You're pretty out of it but you can tell he's close, his tone a little more desperate than angry and his bulge squirming erratically inside you. Needing a little more friction, you start to move your hips desperately, working yourself on his bulge. Your ass slaps against his thighs, the marks Karkat left earlier stinging blissfully. Your cock is a hard line against your body, leaving a wet, demanding smear of precum across your stomach. You could die, just one stroke and it'd be over, this feels so fucking _good._

He comes inside of you with a loud cry, and you feel the slurry filling your ass, it's so fucking much, stretching you in that hot and sweet way, like a gulp of steamy spiced apple cider.

You're still trying to bounce on him, chasing your own release when his other hand reappears, drenched in red and your body goes into hyperdrive when you realize he's been fingering his nook this entire time. You gasp and whine around the hand on your throat.

He wraps slick fingers around your dick and your body jolts. One simultaneous, squeeze around your neck and your cock makes you scream; pressing back into him you reach your peak with pops of color in your eyes, sending ropes of come shooting onto the towel still laid out in front of you.

You slump back against him, instantaneously boneless, and he flops down on the bed in turn, taking you with him. His bulge is still in you, but you can feel the pressure easing as it retracts, the escaping wetness starting to coat your thighs.

Karkat is silent, and you realize the movie is still playing, which strikes you as slightly hysterical in your post coital haze.

You turn around to face him. His eyes have lightened and he's looking at you way too tenderly. It makes you flush, and you're still wearing the shell of a smile, so you duck down and bury your face in the space where Karkat’s neck meets his shoulder.

He pauses the movie. "Thanks," he says, quietly, and you hear every word he doesn't say. _Thanks for letting me do that with you. Thanks for humoring me._

You want to tell him how much you enjoyed it, maybe finally let him know just how much you look forward to these nights, but the words get stuck to the roof of your mouth, stubborn and tacky, like peanut butter.

You swallow and squeeze your eyes shut. You will do this. For Karkat's sake, and maybe also a little bit for your own needy ass.

You pop up, throwing an elbow out to catch your head. You're facing Karkat now but still not really reaching his gaze. "Hey, you don't have to say thanks, man. Sex is kind of like a package deal with me, and yes, by that I mean my literal package is always up for grabs."

You watch Karkat's eyes furrow, almost in slow motion. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying we could do this more often… you know if you wanted to… like, once a month, shit, once a week even…" You finally look up at him. "I'd like that."

"Really?"

He shift and fidgets, clearly uncomfortable, so you steel yourself and take his hands in yours. His cheeks are flushed dark with embarrassment, eyes pointed downward.

You push on. "I mean, I know I want it. And we don't have have to do the shitty fake arguments either. You can just walk through the door one night and go all Wolverine on me and I guarantee you I'll pretty much have the best night of my life."

There's heat in your belly at just the thought. You hope Karkat realizes that there's not an ounce of exaggeration in what you're saying.

"Oh." His voice is small, quiet. "I'll–I'll keep that in mind.

You think that’s progress, for now. "Sweet. Now let's watch the end of this fucking movie already."

Karkat audibly rolls his eyes but you can tell by the way his whole body untenses that he’s relieved to end this discussion. He lifts his arm and the movie resumes. You turn around again and lay your head on Karkat's chest while he massages light and soothing circles into your skin, alternating between your sore ass and neck, your hips, thighs. When he's done and you feel like a puddle, his hands thread into your hair, scratching lightly and combing down the strands.

It's so fucking nice.

You're asleep by the time the credits roll.

**Author's Note:**

> send a prompt, or just kick it with me at [davekatprompts.tumblr.com](http://davekatprompts.tumblr.com)


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